


A Mother's Disdain

by vivial



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Dynamics, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivial/pseuds/vivial
Summary: Madame Delamare shows up unannounced at Marisa's cocktail party.
Relationships: Marisa Coulter & Madame Delamare
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	A Mother's Disdain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelivingbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivingbird/gifts).



> This is a gift for Sami after I lowkey trolled everyone at clown town about maman being at the party on the show lmao Sorry about that.

Madame Delamare concealed well her desire to sneer at her daughter, who lingered amidst her guests, instead offering her a sweet smile; she was taught better on how to control her emotions, something Marisa herself didn't seem capable of doing at that moment, after seeing her mother at her own party. A place she was not meant to be at all.

“ _ Maman _ .” She said, in a whisper, quickly grasping at her mother's elbow, as she leaned in to kiss her cheeks. Her hesitation while doing that was quite visible, or so thought the older woman; that was enough to warrant a snappish reply, which came so easily off Madame Delamare’s lips, one might have thought she was mean naturally.

“You could at least pretend you're happy to see me.”

“I wasn't aware you would be here,  _ mother. _ ” 

“Maybe because you didn't invite me,  _ girl _ .”

She watched with a certain sense of accomplishment when Marisa took a deep breath, probably to avoid cursing loudly. Whatever she wanted to say, she knew better not to; the whole flat was filled with people Marisa wouldn't want to make a bad impression on.

“This is a professional gathering, maman--”

“Oh, so I’m not professional, now?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Yes,  _ yes _ , you never mean to say the things you say, yet you keep on saying them.” Madeleine stroke her cheek then softly patted it. She laughed when Marisa sighed, defeated, or perhaps just too tired to argue, but either way, Madame Delamare saw it as a victory for herself. “Go on, now. Be a host. I’ll just mingle, or whatever is it that you English people call it.”

“Please, don’t make a scene.” Marisa whispered, then took a step back. “I have investors here, maman.”

“And you chose to wear  _ that _ to impress them?” Maman gesture so openly at Marisa’s green dress, that Marisa looked around to see if anyone at the party had noticed it too, but they were too busy in their own conversations. “A lazy slip of a thing with a vile cut of a collar. Ha! Even Marcel dresses better than that for his meetings.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Maybe not usually, but in this case it is.”

“If you like him so much, why didn't you stay with him, maman?” Marisa scoffed and Madeleine grinned at that.

“Because I see him almost every day, as he didn't abandon his household like you did.”

Marisa smiled but Madame Delamare could tell she wanted to roll her eyes, badly.

“Well, I'm sure he tried. Just… please, enjoy yourself.”

Madeleine watched her daughter leave, talking to people she found utterly boring, and worst of all, unimportant. But so was her perception of pretty much everything English (or anything that represented any choice made by Marisa herself), and she couldn’t understand why Marisa had left behind a good life in Geneva, in exchange of such hardship.

Even after the affair, she had chosen to stay in London; Marisa had some nerve, and that was something Madame Delamare could respect, at the very least. She also thought that Marisa had poor taste in men, as she watched her daughter offer easy smiles to most men at the party, the women too; it was very _ … predictable  _ and Madeleine thought Marisa should know better since she taught her all of that, very well.

Most of the conversations Madame Delamare had were uninteresting, as she found most English people flat and with no flair; so, it was easy for her to notice the little girl wandering around the flat, carrying a tray of champagne flutes, in a dress that tried its best to flatter her naturally savage expression and somehow, it succeeded. She wasn’t very pretty; Madame Delamare didn’t spend more than five seconds to recognise her though; even though she had much of her father in her, it was easy to see whatever she had inherited from Marisa. Certainly not her pretty features, but there was a certain air of disdain, of entitlement, that belonged to Madeleine's daughter. She knew that well because it belonged to her as well.

“Aren’t you the prettiest little thing?” Madeleine announced, when Lyra approached her with her tray, almost too big for her to carry. She offered a sweet, delightful smile, that barely reached her eyes, but it was actually a very good act. Her daemon did a little twirl in the air, butterfly shaped.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I’m Lyra. I’m Mrs. Coulter’s assistant.”

Madame Delamare laughed with a disdain so complex that eluded Lyra, who simply stared at her, with a false interest that slowly faded. To say she was bored would be an understatement. Madeleine glanced over Marisa, in the distance, surrounded by a couple that were likely aristocrats; she barely spared them a glance, instead looking back at the girl who, after not getting any attention, was beginning to walk away.

“Lyra?” Madeleine said, and the girl turned on her heels, the flutes shaking on her tray after such a graceless movement. “Your parents made a distasteful choice of name. Assistant, you said? Has she lost her mind?”

“Oh, no, I’m very good. I can read maps, and I know the right parts of a seal to eat.”

“Yeah, those are very  _ useful _ things, dear.” She used a finger to lift up Lyra’s chin delicately; the girl offered her an embarrassed smile, her teeth slightly crooked. Madame Delamare rose her eyebrows, unimpressed; the girl was everything but classy. There were signs that Marisa had tried to educate her, and while it had rubbed it off on Lyra, it hadn't been an excellent job. Despite being well-born, the girl had a slouchy posture of a commoner; Madeleine expected better, from Marisa and even from Asriel. No matter how bad Asriel's heresy was, he still had been an Earl, so his child should have at least a proper education. “You have beautiful eyes, Lyra, like your mother's.”

For once the girl looked astonished. “My mother?” She said but before Madeleine could say another word, Marisa's voice sounded nearby.

“Maman, what are you doing?” She approached, her monkey trotting beside her; she looked at Lyra and smiled, sweet and coy. Madame Delamare thought it was a cheap trick. “Lyra, dear, Lord Boreal needs a refill, would you please help him with it?”

“Sure.” She turned around and disappeared amongst the guests, though reluctantly, as the use of the word  _ maman _ grasped at her curiosity; Madeleine watched with a grin, as Marisa stopped in front of her.

“Are you out of your mind?” Marisa hissed through a smile.

“Are you? Because the way you dressed your own--”

“She doesn’t  _ know. _ ” She put a hairlock back in its place. “You can’t resist, can you? You have to interfere with everything.”

“Oh, please, don’t be  _ dramatique _ , it doesn’t suit you.” Madeleine said, straightening herself. “We must discuss the girl’s future.”

Marisa rose her hand to silence her mother and Madame Delamare slapped it away. Her daughter’s daemon growled, frustrated.

“Not now. Stay away from Lyra.”

Madeleine had no intention of obeying, but after Marisa turned to talk to other people, she didn’t see much of Lyra. She didn’t actively looked after the girl, but she expected Lyra to seek her out, out of interest or curiosity. It never happened, so she spent the rest of the party sipping her champagne and talking to anyone she found remotely important enough to deserve her attention.

Later on, as most guests had started to leave, she decided to let her daughter know she was about to do the same. She found Marisa at her study, rampaging through her papers in sheer distress.

“What has gotten into you?”

Marisa dropped some of the papers she was holding on her desk and turned to face her mother, a dark expression in her eyes.

“What do you want, maman? I am busy.”

Madeleine rested her hand in a nearby chair.

“Marisa, it’s time you mind your tone with me. I’ve indulged your little rebellious attitude tonight, but it’s time you cut it out.”

“You almost ruined everything with Lyra, tonight.”

“I was doing you a favour.” Madame Delamare snapped; the golden monkey opened his mouth in a threatening way. “The sooner you tell her, the easier it will be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want her in Geneva.”

For a moment Marisa stared at her mother, in silence, almost as if she was pondering what had just been said. And then she scoffed.

“No.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She’s staying with me.”

Madeleine laughed. “Oh, don’t be foolish. We need to educate her properly!”

“I can do that just fine.”

“You know she is important to the Magisterium, Binaud says--” Madeleine frowned when Marisa interrupted, so bold, so uncivilised.

“I don’t care what he says.” She took a step closer. “She’s mine and she’s staying here.”

Madame Delamare held her own daemon closer to her chest, staring Marisa dead in her eyes. She would usually shrink under that gaze, but not that night.

“You’re being unreasonable, girl.”

“Maybe it’s an inherited trait, then.” Marisa hissed, and then sighed, rubbing her temples. “Maman, I cannot deal with you right now. I am busy with my project. When do you go back to Geneva?”

“First thing in the morning.” Madeleine hissed back, narrowing her eyes, but all Marisa did was sigh. “I only came to see the girl.”

“Of course. Well, then we’ll talk when I go back to visit you.”

“When?” Madeleine inquired and Marisa took a deep breath before answering.

“ _ Soon _ , maman.”

Madeleine didn’t move as Marisa kissed both of her cheeks and walked her out of the door as if nothing had happened. She waited with her mother by the door, as the driver approached and helped Madeleine get inside the car. They didn’t say a word.

Madame Delamare watched her daughter go back inside, ever so clean and lustrous, and she couldn’t understand why the resistance in giving up the girl. She pondered it for a while though, before letting herself dive into more pleasant thoughts.

The last thing she saw was the shimmer of Marisa’s ugly dress as she closed the door behind her. The last time they saw each other.


End file.
